You Want to Know the Truth?
by MysteriousAnn
Summary: It's a year later, and it's about to get a whole lot more complicated. -Not a clique' -
1. Do you want to know how popular I am?

"_Do you want to know how popular I am?_

_I'm so popular everybody loves me at this school."_

_- Claire Standish_

Shermer, Illinois

-1986-

**1 year later…**

"That's right, Louis, just runaway from your problems like you always do! Go screw that young blonde secretary we all know you've been fucking around behind my back since Rick died!"

" No, no that is not what I'm going here, Caroline, and how dare—"

_SLAM!_

The tiny squares of glass in the ornate door shuddered as Claire shoved the toe of her chic, leather boots into the grand Victorian house. At that moment she could care less if her mother came out then and screamed at her for causing such commotion, possibly drawing the neighbors attention. Because after her, would come trailing behind the father. A father that was annoyingly too calm as always, with the strong determination to persuade her that it was just a little disagreement they were having and everything was all fine now.

All fucking rainbows and flowers.

"Bullshit."

Down the front patio, she ran. Her legs soared over the cobbled steps, her boots hitting the sidewalk a second later before she was pounding down the sidewalk, completely ignoring the fact that she did have a car. A brand new 85' cream Convertible sat newly polished and untouched in the garage; a gift she'd received a week previous to cover up the real issue that been going on between her parents for the last several months. And now Claire wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between her and her folks as humanly possible.

She glanced at the leather strap wrapped around her wrist as she ran. The gold numerals read: 7:00. She had approximately thirty minutes before class started, plenty of time to get ready. She hadn't been able to take staying in her house any longer with her parents screaming at each other, fighting about the death of their son. Internally, Claire had reached her limit with it all. Whether they ever admitted it to themselves or not, it was getting worse; their spite, their bribery, her mother's spontaneous decision to take off to the tropics.

Personally, Claire wouldn't be surprised if she came home today to find her mother gone, again

For her ire of needing to get away from her parents, this she could blame them for. They were the ones widening the gap in their already divorce-near-relationship. They were the ones who never talked out their problems. They believed money and getaways were the fix. But they never fixed what was hurting the two on the inside.

The clear answer that was hurting them in recent years: Rick Maurice Standish.

The brother that had kept Claire's sanity intact; at least twice a week when he'd still been living, he'd called from his Chicago apartment to make sure she was okay. Sometimes, he'd drive up there, paying with his own gas money to take her away from their parent's disputes. Claire had appreciated that even after he moved out, he had still reprised his role as her comfort blanket.

Because, like she, he knew what went on behind the rich family's closed doors.

Claire recalled a time back when they had both been young. The family Easter of 1976. Between their parents, there had been a huge blowout about whom had bought them the best candy, the best baskets, and the best toys. While the two continued to argue downstairs, a huge thunderstorm had broken out. A huge bolt of lighting had cut across the sky, lighting up Claire's entire room, followed by a loud clap of thunder. It had shaken her to tears. But who should only hear her, but her brother, who had come in the next instant, scooping her up in his arms without so much as a complaint, and rocked her to sleep as it stormed on...

For many years he'd do that... until the eve of May 16, 1985... her seventeenth birthday...

Gasping, Claire came to an abrupt halt as her hand seized her chest, her other hand having thrusted out and grasped unto a tree, its rough bark sinking into the palm of her hand as the vivid images of that last birthday flooded her mind.

It didn't matter how many shrinks she saw because she'd never forget...

_Blue and red. Flashes of the two colors, blinking, reflecting off the glass of their front living room window that overlooked her mother's begonias planted along the patio. Then came the shadows... Dark, brooding figures almost trampling over the carefully cared for plants... with a body. The fair, amber locks were stained with some sort of shiny substance that glistened in the light. The color was so dark against their hair. It was almost like the color of...blood. But lots of blood. Their jacket appeared coated in it. She would hate to see them try to wear that to school, the carefully tailored black leather looked completely unrepairable..._

_And yet her mind couldn't shake the odd feeling that was making her fresh, painted pink nails sink into the bright green wrapping paper she'd been about to unwrap, after having waited for her brother for almost an hour already. When was Rick going to get–_

_And that's when she heard it, a large, blood curdling scream that echoed off the walls; a cry so shrill it could only belong... to her mother. _

_And then the present was suddenly forgotten, her feet carrying her fast, so fast. That it wasn't until she was staring, aimlessly into a pair of dark brown eyes, eyes as dark as her's–yet filled with an unrecognizable peace..._

_She realized those two eyes weren't reflecting back at her..._

_Suddenly large, firm hands grabbed her. Voices rang in her ears. But it was too late. She saw. And when she looked up she saw outside the door and where her favorite cherry red car was parked. Except it wasn't parked. It was being hauled by a tow truck. The 'Bugg's' bright, polished exterior was totaled, the sides bent, curved, twisting the 'Bugg' into an angle that made her stomach abruptly churn. The seat was completely gone... windows were broken in..._

_In the far off distance of her mind, she heard someone screaming. The sound was so piercing it seemed to make her head swim. Louder than her mothers, she could feel the heavy vibration it carried as pain shot through her lower abdomen._

_The ground seemed to unexpectedly tilt just then, almost as if it were coming towards her..._

Later Claire would realize it had been her screaming...

According to officers, Rick had been driving while intoxicated. He had been driving back from a friend's party. He had called an hour previous to tell Claire he'd be there he was just running late, when Claire had told him to hurry...

"Claire?"

Claire's head snapped up, resurfacing from the memory as she heard a familiar engine. A stylish, BMW suddenly came into her peripheral vision, the sun glinting off the spotless glass. Hastily wiping the few stray tears that had fallen, she blinked several times, clearing her eyes to make sure she was seeing right. Then, as soon as the sun glinted off that checkered scarf of which could only be bought in the finest boutique shops, she knew who it was.

Louis Standish.

Brushing a few long, red strands of hair that had fallen into her face, Claire quickly pushed up from the tree, trying to regain her composure. As much of a forlorn state she was in, her dad was the last person she wanted comfort from.

"Claire!"

Claire started kept walking, her fingernails sinking into the leather fabric of her school bag.

Her dad wasn't a person who gave up that easily though. "Claire, let's not make a scene, honey."

Claire almost snorted, almost. There were only a few people out, most of which were standing on their porches retrieving the morning paper. There was only one old elderly woman that looked at her.

Claire nodded, respectful.

"Claire, honey," Louis continued, "please just get into the car and I'll drive you to school."

As soon as she heard the word please from his mouth, Claire bit the inside of her cheek and reluctantly turned around. "No, just leave me alone." she stated, firm.

The door to the BMW opened. Louis climbed out of the car, a briefcase in one hand. He it set on the hood of the car. His worn, tired face looked like it had aged a couple years as he said, "Let's not make this into a big issue. Let's discuss the real reason why—"

But Claire cut him off, spinning around with her lips ushering a loud, "NO! I do not want to hear your bullshit, that's all I EVER DO! IS LISTEN, LISTEN, LISTEN! I'M SICK OF IT! ALL I WANT IS FOR YOU TO LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE, OKAY?"

Louis Standish's face remained calm, the wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out before he turned his back on her. Claire almost began walking again, until she heard the gold latches to his briefcase make a sharp _click._ Then she stopped, curiosity getting her just the slightest, before she saw what he was pulling out, the glossy words Stanley Korshak written in fine print. "You forgot your daily lunch, sweetheart." he proceeded to say.

Claire stared at if for a long moment before jutting out her chin, stubborn. "I don't want it." Then she spun on her heel and began walking again, knowing her father was going to follow her anyway until she reached the cement steps to Shermer High.

But all through the walk there, she didn't once look back.

T&B&C

The bathroom was already lit by the time Claire had entered the decorative blue and white stalls adorning the girl's bathroom. In no time the linoleum sinks were filled with cosmetics, ranging from shades of autumn to lavender.

After the long walk, her dad hadn't again protested her about letting him drive her to school. He'd followed though of course, making sure she got through the thick, swinging doors of Shermer High, before she'd heard him speed off to his business: Standish Co. It was where he worked as a business man, the company having been a family business passed down for years.

_" A business that makes money off the old buildings of this old town," _Claire remembered her dad once saying as she finished applying her mascara. She'd just finished touching up the lashes with the bristled wand—

When a large group of polished girls walked in, all of them wearing tweedy skirts and the layered tops that she, herself, used to wear.

"Well, well, well, look who it is." A tall blonde girl submerged from the clone of girls, all their bodies having been huddled together in a close-knit circle. This girl, at least 5"6, parted the crowd of girls as if she were parting the red seas of Egypt. She walked toward Claire with an air of aristocracy, her light yellow top matched with a tweedy black skirt reminding Claire of a banana. Her dark blue eyes flew up to her at once, fixated on her like a cat, like only Stacia Marten could when coming upon someone she disliked with great intensity. "And to think you were once the top Queen A." she finished with a sneer, her eyes scanning over Claire before she snickered.

Claire looked down at the dark, lavender sweater she had paired up with some dark jeans. Yet instead of saying anything, she merely gathered up her things and started for the door.

At least that was what should have happened.

But Stacia's was too quick. Her arm shot out against the wall, blocking Claire's exit. "Why, got nothing to say to the_ new_ Queen A of the school?"

"There are a lot of things I would love to say to you, Stacia. It's just that," Claire shrugged her shoulders, nonchalant. "I don't sink to your lame ass level anymore."

The group of girls suddenly gasped with a loud, "Oooh."

Stacia shot out one hand to silence them before her eyes narrowed, cold. "You've just become a real bitch since your brother died, huh?"

"No, I've just learned who my real friends are and who aren't."

Stacia's lips snapped close for an instant.

If Claire hadn't been in such a bad mood she would've felt triumphant. In the past, this girl facing her now, had been like leech, like rubber and glue. Since the two girls had entered Junior High, Stacia Marten had followed Claire around like a second advisee. Her attire had always been "mysteriously" close to what Claire would wear that day. It was like the girl had no identity for herself. She used to always dress like Claire, act like Claire, even try to date Andrew Clark just because Claire knew him.

Up until this point, Stacia had been considered: 'A bitch who didn't know how to think for herself'.

Ever since they'd met up in the sixth grade, almost everybody in the top social pyramid of Shermer knew Stacia had been royally jealous of Claire. The envy she had pented up for years had finally erupted after Claire was selected as the junior prom queen of Shermer High of last year. Yet, as quick as the world evolves, her envy had grown into something increasingly nastier.

When Claire had been abruptly dropped, dead, from their group.

The beginning of her popularity end had begun after she stopped attending every single party. Especially when she'd stood up to Stacia after the girl kept dissing Alison Reynolds for no apparent reason. Really, it had gotten old. Yes, she hadn't stayed friends with Alison, but that hadn't meant she was going to be nasty to her afterwards. Just because she hadn't talked to any of the Breakfast Club members since that Saturday—beside Andy once in a great while—didn't mean she'd forgotten that detention.

There were a lot of good things that had come out of that one, single day; and a few things she noticed afterwards.

A.) How conceited she was. After Brian had told her that, Claire had started to unsubconciously step outside of herself. Little by little, she had begun to see the way her friends were and how they treated the classes they considered 'lower than them'. Of course, the outcome was not a sudden miraculous 360 degree turnaround where she dropped everything and became a brand new person—but it had been enough for her to realize some of the things the members had been trying to get through her head. It was like what the infamous John Bender had been saying all along, however much she hated his bluntness.

B.) Quote on quote: She was a bitch. If she'd earlier admitted to herself, she was just like a follower. In some ways it could be called hypocritical; she said one thing to their face and then dished out on them with her so-called friends. Just like her mother had once been at Claire's age.

After Ricks death thought things had really shifted...

"Hey you, Red."

And when that moment had come, it was like her status of popularity became an induced memory. From that point on, people had avoided her like the Black Plague. It was only when Stacia had been deemed as the new 'Queenie' of the school, had it been the ultimate turning point in Claire's High School career.

Ever.

"Aw, little miss _ex_-popular still brooding over her brother's death? What has it been now, four months since the accident?"

"Go to hell, Stacia."

Stacia's lips turned into a fake pout, "Aw, is little Clairy going to cry now? Did I strike a nerve?"

"I mean it, Stacia. Enough!" Claire warned.

The girls behind Stacia giggled, cruel.

"No," Stacia began again, her eyes gleaming, "that's where Rick is, isn't it? Hell, he was drinking at the time was—"

But that was as far as Stacia got.

The next second was followed by a loud _SMACK!_ with Claire's hand connecting with Stacia's skin, shoving the preppie so hard by the shoulders the two abruptly lost their balance. With a loud _BANG! _both girls were thrown through the bathroom doors, Claire scraping her elbow against the tiled floors of the school's hallway as she wrestled Stacia to the ground. Ignoring the crowds of onlookers abruptly forming, she grabbed the yellow Ralph Lauren shirt clothing Stacia's torso. "Don't you _ever_ say that about my fucking brother!" she screamed.

Stacia's shriek turned into rage. Then one of her long, red nailed fingers sliced into Claire's cheek. "Get the hell off me you _freakoid_!" Her body weight shifted, turning her waist so Claire lost her balance, Stacia gaining top where she yanked at Claire's sweater.

Claire grabbed a fistful of her hair, beginning to taste the metallic tang of blood in her mouth.

Stacia shrieked, smacking Claire across the face.

The crowd was getting larger. People had begun to chant. "Cat fight, cat fight, cat fight!"

"Oh, THAT'S IT!" Claire cried. Before Stacia saw it coming Claire kicked Stacia's legs from underneath her. She grabbed her shoulders and pushed her off her with all her might, before lunging at her once more.

"FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!"

"ALL RIGHT THAT'S ENOUGH!"

The crowd suddenly grew silent.

Claire knew that voice, but before she could do anything about it, two strong arms hoisted her up from the ground.

Oooo

There, I hope you guys liked the add on! More in next chapter w/ all the BC Members. I know there wasn't a lot of mention about them, so you'll be surprised where they are now. Oh! And I also wanted to tell you this:

I chose Claire b/c she'd like the shorter end of the stick people hate. So I've decided to indulge into her life with her problems and well, you'll see what becomes of this once mean girl...ha-ha.

Tehe, please review they always make me smile and I'll give you cyber cookies!

Don't be shy, the button is just right down there!

_Preview_:

Bender: Lets just say things get a little promiscuous.

Alison: Hmm, so is your quiet girl so quiet anymore or has she changed?

Andy: Has he changed at all since the BC ended?

Brian: Is he still the innocent boy everybody thought was a little cutie?

Hmmm... What could possibly happen? Oh the possibilities.

Ha-ha, personally, I can't wait to bring back John Bender. **He rox!**


	2. I'm not that pristine

_Hey everyone! First off, I apologize for such the long wait; hopefully this satiates your thirst. I want to thank you for all the support I have been getting, I myself wasn't exactly satisfied with this chapter due to time but I really wanted to get this posted b/c I know you guys have been waiting long enough. To forewarn you now, it's going to sound a little weird, maybe a bit angsty and a little lifetime like and maybe kind of weird with the pairings in here, but as every story progresses, it will all be straightened out in the end so please trust me on this if you've loved the story so far. I swear it's not going to be a cliché and it's not going to be dramatic ( all the time as it may seem here a bit) okay?_

_Um I do do a little switch in here from Claire's pov just to get you all up to date on how all the other members are doing. In the next chapter I will be giving personal thanks to all those who have reviewed, more BC Members, more fun fun fun * winks*_

_But for now I figure, I will go and let you read this, lol_

_**And remember**__: Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it, and I will work something out to make this better for you. Feel free to PM me if need be, okay? And I don't own any of the BC members although it would be cool to steal Bender for a day * sigh* haha._



_Enjoy!_

_~Britty_

_00000_

"_I'm not that pristine."_

- Claire Standish

Shermer High, 7: 30 a.m

Principle's Office.

"And just when I couldn't think no less, you all got out and pull a stunt like this! 'Fighting in the hallways, at seven o' clock in the damn morning causing a bunch of ruckus in my school!"

"Yeah a stunt my mother is going to hear about."

"You shut up, Ms. Marten. You are no more innocent in this matter in which you _will_ be paying for. Actions serve consequences, and with consequences you come to learn the meaning of respect. The respect I deserve as your principle, which includes you paying attention to me,_ Ms. Standish_!"

_CRACK!_

The sound of wood connecting against steel bounced off the solid walls of Richard Vernon's office as the ruler stick came down, hard, against the edge of his desk. With the sudden gust of wind came the filmy, flapping sound of paper off the Baywatch calendar hanging on one of the many white cement blocks adorning his room. The picture featured Pamela Anderson dressed in a skimpy red bathing suit, her long, yellow hair splayed over her dark tanned shoulders as she looked out from the ocean, a lusty smile gracing her rouged lips.

Still looking at it, Claire wondered how a man such as their Principle Richard Vernon could say all this nonsense to them, yet have a calendar such as Baywatch, which all in all, was just a cheap show made to make lots of money about Playboy beach babes with hot bods and big boobs. Really, he should be one to talk.

"Ms. Standish!" came Vern's irate voice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Claire's dark eyes slid to him.

Vern's eyes were cold, his thin lips pressed into a hard line which meant he was restraining himself from screaming in her face. He had his chin tucked in the collar of his ebony shirt; every wrinkle ironed out and creased into perfection. His wool jacket was slung over his leather chair and two knuckles which had turned an ugly bone-white, were clenched into the black steel of the desk's surface.

But that was not what Claire was mainly looking at. In the yellow lights above him numerous white hairs had begun to sprout out underneath the grey ones. For just one second she wondered if it somehow had to do with a certain 'criminal'.

Almost smirking at this thought, her eyes finally locked on to Vern's murmuring in a low tone, "I'm listening, _Vern_."

For just a split second Vern's bushy brows shot up looking slightly startled—before it was replaced with a nasty scowl, the crease between his brows deepening. "I see one detention wasn't enough for you, Ms. Standish." he replied tersely. "How about we try for two?"

Claire could feel Stacia's watchful gaze on her as her eyes narrowed. But she shrugged the preppie off as she crossed her arms, directing all the anger and hurt inside, at the crude man in front of her. "It just must _thrill_ you to damn other people's lives, hm?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stacia's mouth drop, baffled.

Claire—had she been able to switch places with her former self—would've probably dropped down dead seeing the girl that had taken her place. The old pristine, goodie-two-shoe Claire would've listened to Vern, taken the insults, and withdrawn. But this new Claire, a more fierce yet distant, nonchalant but didn't-take-crap-from-people-like-Vern, had gained a lot more backbone. Getting into a fight with Stacia had already proved that. In a way she saw herself becoming a lot like Alison Reynolds without all the black, minus the squeaks and the odd food tastes. Since Rick's death she sustained speaking out unless called upon or asked certain questions.

Although, that all changed if one person ever so much as brought up her brothers name. Then she went off like a shot gun.

Looking up at Vern's face which was already fuming, Claire didn't even so much as flinch when he finally erupted. "Alright that is it! Saturday detention for you both! And for you!" he pointed a ringed finger directly at Claire. "You are going to be spending every god damn Saturday here. You just keep it up, missy , and you'll be here the rest of your natural-born life!"

"Well what can I say? I'm _thrilled_." As soon as the words escaped, Claire's lips snapped shut, her eyes slightly widening in surprise. Had she just quoted Bender?

Looking back up at Vern's face, her question was quickly answered.

Two dark red patches stained his wrinkled cheeks. His nostrils flared as he deeply inhaled. Quoting from the one person Principle Richard Vernon hated more than anyone at Shermer High, was a huge. He pierced her with brooding, malicious eyes before whispering. "What… did you just say?"

Stacia, who obviously wanted some attention, was the first to pipe up. "I believe she said she was thrilled to have you give her such _long_ detentions."

Claire's head whipped around to glare at her.

Stacia, sitting with her legs crossed properly with one toe of her black heels rhythmically touching the carpet, smirked at Claire, her cat-like eyes dancing in their blue depths. "Am I not correct?" she added as she tapped her nails on the arm of the chair.

"Sucking up to a principle is not going to get you any farther in this meeting, Ms. Marten. Go. Leave. Now."

Disgruntled, Claire slouched a bit more in her seat having thought Stacia had gotten the shorter end of the stick.

Stacia however looked pleased with herself. She popped out of her chair and with a sickly smile that sincerely made Claire want to shove her in the dirt, she said, "Thank you, Mr. Vernon, I have learned from my mistakes and I promise you I will not commit such _inexcusable_ behavior again."

"Butt kisser." Claire mumbled.

Stacia—who had been about to exit—turned around, her face mocked with horror. "Mr. Vernon did you hear what she just called me?"

"Get out my office, Ms. Marten. Saturday detention we'll talk."

"S-Saturday," she added in a whiney voice, "But I thou—"

"OUT!" Vern barked.

Like a scared rabbit, Stacia flew out the door in less than a half second, the door slamming behind her.

Claire looked up again; readjusting herself once more for she knew the meeting between her and Vern was far from over yet.

Vern scrubbed at his face before settling himself at the corner of his desk looking directly at her. "Now, Ms. Standish," he said sharply, "'Care to explain your hostility or has it just become of you?"

"Jag off."

"See?! That's exactly what I mean and I won't tolerate it!"

"Then give me the flippin' detention, just leave me alone."

"Not likely, Ms. Standish. Now I want to know why your acting like a certain criminal we both know, and I want to know right now!"

"You're wasting your time."

"Time can also be consequential to certain students who disobey a direct order."

"This is High School, Vern, not the military."

"You want to be a smarty with me, huh? Is that what you want?!"

Claire remained mute.

"Hey!" He snapped his fingers in front of her face. "You will look at me when I'm talking to you, young lady."

Claire's head snapped up, "Trying to impression a father is only going to piss me off."

"Good," Vern replied, a hint of smugness in his tone. "Maybe that's what you need."

Claire could feel the flare of anger beginning to rise within her. "Shut up."

"Your father obviously isn't doing such a hot job!"

"Shut. Your. Mouth."

"'Mothers still a mess, and the whole town knows it."

"SHUT UP!"

"Your whole family isn't doing so well after your dropout brother decided to go get himself all drugged up with boo—"

"_SHUUUUUUUT UUUPPPP_!"

"Well…what is this, _Dick_? Are we now taking up theatre? Or is it just a bad case of blue balls you just_ had_ to let out on some poor innocent student?" they added in mock pity.

Claire froze, her chest heaving in and out having been ready to strike Vern straight in the nose…if she hadn't recognized that voice by the next second. Out of all six thousand kids that attended Shermer High she could depict that voice out of a crowd anywhere. After a year of never once seeing him lurking in the school hallway, hearing the familiar _chink_ of his chained wallet, or seeing him outside slumming against the wooden stands of the football grounds, blazin' it up with his group of friends—it suddenly amazed her how his voice abruptly made her stomach flip and her temper to drift with her mind suddenly spinning towards a hundred different other thoughts.

One part of her brain was screaming for her to book it out of there before she blew up again, yet another part ebbed at her with curiosity: Did he know it was her stuck in Vern's office by the way she'd just screamed? Or had he already but with his usual attitude swings, he just wasn't saying anything? And then there was an even bigger part of her that wondered if he knew somehow she had changed, if he did know it was her, here, now in Vern's office. And… if he did, if he did recognize her, could he see just by what she was wearing, that she wasn't such a pristine girl he'd known back in junior year?

Because he had left…She remembered…

_All morning her stomach had been doing a bunch of crazed flip flops, for once, feeling the day was going to be unpredictable with the constant reminders that kept presenting itself in front of her from that Saturday afternoon. All weekend scenes from that afternoon had kept replaying in her head: Brian's near attempt of suicide, Andy's problems with his father, Alison's invisibility with her parents, and John Bender's issues with his abusive father._

_The Brain. The Basket case. The Athlete. The Princess. And the Criminal._

_However, the question that had really duped her that whole weekend—after the fluttery feelings of actually kissing the Bad Boy she'd grown feelings for, had dissipated—was, where did that leave them? Had kissing meant just a kiss to him or was Bender expecting something more? And the most important question was, was she? Could there ever be a bad ass criminal and a pristine polished princess together? And if so, how? For one they were absolute opposites and yet in another way they were completely the same. She was stubborn. He didn't like to be wrong. She didn't like being told the blunt truth. He lived off bluntness; it was a part of his nature. _

_She hated how he was so harsh. He hated how she was so 'bitchy'. She didn't like how perverse he was. He didn't like how uptight she was about being perverse._

_So how could the impossible ever be possible? How far would she go to be with someone like him? Would she risk her popularity, her reputation, to be with someone like him? And would he?_

_No matter how she balanced the pros and cons, one true factor remained: This was High School and anything could happen._

_So Claire decided she would wait for him to make the first move and see where that took them. That is, _if _he would do anything about it and that was_ if_ he did approach her. Otherwise it wasn't worth risking. Then again, going that route she'd end up bruising his ego, which in the end, would probably cause her to have one large enemy that would be bound to make her life a living hell from then on._

_Suddenly, as she rounded the school's brick building to meet Stacia, who was bound to hound her with questions about her first detention—she saw him._

_He was huddled around a group of friends, a haze drifting over groups of guys and girls dressed in biker clothes and tattered jeans in the school parking lot._

_He was leaning against a beaten up '84 black corvette, a cigarette in one hand and a large sack slung over the other shoulder, one corner of his lip turned up, smirking at some guy sporting a purple frohawk patting his shoulder with chipped, black fingernail polish._

_Even though Claire was a good distance away she could hear shouts of what sounded like goodbye, some such like: 'Fender Bender', 'J.B', or 'Sexy stuff' from who Claire didn't want to know. But immediately eyeing the lumpy sack slung over his shoulder, with a small pang, she knew things at home must've gotten much worse than what he'd portrayed in the library. Making sure he couldn't see her she quickly hid behind the school wall, already knowing she was going to be late. Then, as the crowd gradually began to disperse, Claire watched with a leaden heart as he climbed into the beaten up car, sporting a dent on the rear._

_For just one second she imagined herself jumping out of her spot and running towards the car to kiss him goodbye, before he could say anything sarcastic or blunt. It would've just been a spare-of-a-moment-thing before he left; something completely ludicrous with all of his friends as eye witnesses to see and possibly her's as well. But it would leave her with the confident notion that she had probably shocked him and yet had done something spontaneous for herself to hold unto, and be grateful that she for once had done something for herself and not for her friends._

_But instead she just stood there, hiding beneath the school's solid walls, hearing the engine roar to life, watching as dirt spewed from beneath the tires, burning rubber, and causing the exhaust to smoke, before he thrusted his fist out the open window as his friends hooted and hollered in praise._

_Then, leaving thick, smeared tire lines left in remembrance of the criminal, John Bender drove out of Claire Standish's life…_

And now he was back.

He was back in Shermer, Illinois: Shermer High, and at that moment all she could do was stare at the carpet pattern of the office floor, unable to meet his gaze.

"Well are you going to invite me in, _Dick_? Or should I just make myself comfortable?"

"I found these two in the car, in Shop getting a little _promiscuous_."

_Two?_

"I think appropriate term would be _horny_, Dock."

"Shut up you worthless—"

"Just get him out of my face, Vern."

"Will do, Dave."

"Whoop! It's been too long since we've been together, _Dick_. I know what that must've done to you, _wha_."

"Shut up! 'Enough with the perverseness remarks sit down!"

"Vern you don't really…?"

"Of course I don't, Dave, he's lying right through his _teeth_."

"It's alright, _Dick_, I think they understand our mutual relationship. _Man to man_."

"Shut up!"

"Its okay, Dock, he's still in denial."

"If you don't shut it right now, buster, you'll seriously be in a load!"

Beneath her long curtain of red hair, Claire peeked up and caught an old man in his mid fifties, grease stains over a dark button up shirt stretched over his round belly, the rolls beneath his neck deepening as he bowed his shining bald head to the two figures in front of him, his beaky nose looking as sharp as a pencil: Mr. Tierney.

A finger suddenly came into view tapping their nose. "No need to point the beak at me, Dock. 'Can't help it if my nuts ride shotgun, who can?"

"Alright that's enough out of you," came Vern's gruff voice, "I can take it from here, Dave."

"See ya soon, Dock."

"Take a seat, buster."

"Oh, eager are we? Well why didn't you say so?"

There was a sound of a zipper being pulled.

"ARGH!!" Vern growled.

"Now careful_, Dick_, 'might burst a vein or a nut with a face like that. Not that any surgery can help _that_."

"Take care, Vern." There was the sound of a door creaking shut, signaling Mr. Tierney's hasty leave, before Vern's voice cut through the silence once more.

"Have a seat, the both of you! Ms. Standish move aside to make some room! If I have to keep you here in my office all day to make you I will." Then there was a shuffling of papers. "Now I will be_ right_ back, if any of you try to move you'll be in for it."

_BANG!_

The door slammed.

Time suddenly seemed to freeze.

Right away she could feel two pairs of eyes on her. Numbly setting down back into her seat, Claire released the air she'd been holding, exhaling as quietly as possible before sinking lower into her seat, hoping to avert the attention from her as quickly as possible. For one, a thousand thoughts of what exactly he meant by the term_ promiscuous,_ raced through her mind. Two, well, for once, she wished Vern were here beginning his tirade instead of having her dwell here. Left to sit in dead silence was just pure torture.

"Claire…?"

A few seconds later, the silence was broken by a hesitant, but cool hand unexpectedly touching her shoulder.

Instinctively Claire tensed, her body having felt frozen all over again. Yet that didn't stop her mind from working, sluggishly following what her mind wanted her to do, until she was turning toward the familiar voice, losing all thoughts of coherency when she came in contact with sharp, black eyes…

Except in some way they were unfamiliar. Instead of being shielded by her mop of brown hair, the thick layers were pulled back by a blue bandana, revealing the defined, high cheekbones brushed lightly with soft pinks that matched the pale, thin lips now pulled into a small smile. A red checked thermal was thrown over a white tanktop, washed out jeans clinging to the shape of her legs, instead hiding them beneath many black layers she'd worn for the longest time.

Alison Reynolds.

But it wasn't this that her eyes lingered on. No, it was the shiny little faucets punctured in her ear, glimmering in the dingy office light, a trinket she'd given as a gift to a person she'd crushed on that last Saturday afternoon, a day which now seemed billions of years ago from when she'd placed it into his large hands…

Her earring.

Her earring, which was now in Alison's ear.

Not his.

Her's.

Before she even knew it, her discovery was spoke aloud. "Nice earring, Alison."

Her voice had come out bitter, yet at this point Claire didn't care. She was pissed, if not a little surprised he hadn't yet pawned the real diamond.

Alison flinched…then…glared!

What fucking nerve!

"I gave it to her…" followed up a hard voice. Up until this point they'd been completely silent. This was quite odd since he could never shut his big, blunt, mouth.

As if allowing herself for the first time—since he'd entered the room—Claire looked up into the chocolate brown eyes of the criminal himself…

His lip was quirked just the slightest—which spoke volumes: He was soaking this all in. Two boots, one wrapped with a red and white bandana, with the other left bare, were propped on Vern's desk. The familiar jean jacket he'd worn to detention was draped over one shoulder, flaunting a plain white waffle shirt that brought out his broad form, exposing the solid muscles underlying the thin fabric. One arm was slung over the back of the chair, black fingerless gloves on each hand. However, it was those eyes that held her. Caught between a few shaggy strands of brown falling into the fringe of lashes, his eyes were cold. Blank without any emotion, they were staring at her as if she were nothing but an interesting object in the room he'd casually glanced upon. In fact it didn't even look like he was looking at her, but more past her to…

And then his face abruptly changed.

That's when Claire was pulled from his gaze, brought back to reality enough to have heard the soft _click_ of an office door closing again.

"Miss me while you were gone, _Dick_? Or did Cherry keep your thoughts occupied?"

Claire inwardly groaned, rubbing her eyes.

It was going to become a long day.

T&B&C

School hallway

8: 15 a.m.

"DAMMIT!"

_BAM!_

The sound of flesh connecting against steel echoed down the school hallways of Shermer High, as Andrew Clark punched the dinky cheap locker he used. Leaning his forehead against the cool metal he grit his teeth, trying to keep his temper in check from what had happened to Saul Stevens not two days before. But having an asshole for a dad who constantly pushed him to do things he used to when he was star of Shermer, Andrew soon had found it hard not follow in his father's footsteps.

When he already was.

"_It's inevitable…"_

Just hearing those weak, condemned words from the one person who had hurt him more than anything, only caused another punch, another indent, to his locker. It had not helped after the morning he had, getting into an arguing match with his dad about working out more because it looked to him 'Andy' was loosing weight. When the truth was, Andrew worked out day in and day out, growing tougher, harder than an eighteen year old teenager should be…

Games used to be fun: Now they were just goals. He had to be number one. It had become an obsession, a possessive thing to him. It was the one thing he could do to make himself worthy of his father, the one thing he had control over.

But at the same time, it was the one thing that had destroyed him.

From what had grown of just one incident with Larry Lester—had become dozens. Yet Andrew could not stop it because the only thing that went through his mind when he wailed on a person was his father's words penetrating his concentration, his focus, over and over again until time became meaningless…

"_Andrew you have to be number one, number one, number one…"_

The very words that had sunk him to his father's level.

The very words that had every kid frightened if they so much as looked at him.

The very words which had caused Brian Johnson to end up in the hospital, in a coma. From month ago incident, it was to this day he still hadn't gone to see how Brian was doing, because it was the very thing Andrew would never forgive himself for as long as he lived. Maybe that was what had really put an end to his High School career, evoking his scholarship, making him take anger management classes and three hundred hours of community service after he'd been forced to court, and jail from which his own mother had bailed him out from.

Although he was surprisingly not expelled from school for his injudicious stunt, it was what had caused Coach Rugby to come to his decision he'd made this morning, what had made Andrew punch his locker, after having come back from the meeting:

He had been kicked off any activities involving any athletic ability.

One of his so called 'friends' had ratted him out about using steroids.

And because he had sworn up a storm of profanities towards his own Coach who had every right to kick him off, Andrew had to now go see the Principle, knowing this hadn't been the first time he'd be forced to see—again—

Principle Richard Vernon.

As Andrew held the blue slip clenched tight in his fist he knew he'd have to take soon to the Office, he knew from here it was going to be a dreadfully long day, and even worse when he had to break the news to his father.

0000

Now *ducks* like I said, the story is going to see a little weird at first but if you trust me, you'll see how it progresses.

Those of you wondering what the heck happened to Brian, well, is he still in the hospital in a coma, or is he out? And of course, I'm going to tell you now that no he is not dead. I will be doing a recap on why and how Brian gets beat up by Andrew but when I can't tell you when…

*confidential*

So are you ready to see more Bender, more Claire, more why the heck is Alison wearing Claire's earring? Hm… oh the twisted webs we weave with a story…Ha-ha let me know!

Btw: I'm remaining loyal to the characters personalities so this isn't going to be a fluffy story. Romance, of course, yes, a story isn't a story without it can I get a hell yes on that? Lol,

Here's the preview:

_Claire: So what happened after the meeting with Vernon? Who will she encounter on the way home? ( And as you can see Rick's death has sort of hardened her if you didn't catch her little riff raff between her and Vern haha I loved writing that part showing her tough for once ^^)_

_Alison: Why is it she dressing like Bender? What happened between her and Andy?_

_Andrew: What will happen next?_

_( Ha, I'm guessing you guys have basically figured out they all have detention but oh is that detention going to be wild, juicy, filled with action, humor, sarcasm, seduction and tons of Bender goodness! And no it's not going to be exactly like the movie was I have my own ideas just cookin away in my mind)_

_Bender: Why is he being so cold to Claire? And what's with him and Alison?_

Remember: It's mostly in Claire's pov. but once in a while I may switch it. Feel free to let me know what you want to see happen in this story.

Kaye?

Yours truly

~ Britty


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